


Not Time Yet

by Fall



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 507, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:19:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fall/pseuds/Fall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just not time yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. Death

**Author's Note:**

> I must warn you it has been years since my last Merlin fic, and this is the first under such pen name.  
> It just have to be done after re-watch of 507, I really really need something to cheer myself up, so here it is.   
> Un beta-d. Feel free to bite me, just not so hard. 
> 
> Summary for the 1st Chapter: Arthur's awake. And Arthur knows.

He hears Merlin weep, distant and vague, on and off. But it’s Merlin. He wants to open his eyes, he wants to speak, he wants to make fun with the girly Merlin in a reluctant gentle tone. N _o man is worth your tears_ , he wants to tell his manservant, again, and how many times does he have to tell Merlin so that the silly boy- no, a silly man now- will listen in? He wants to make him stop crying, wants to wipe those tears off the blue eyes and pale cheeks (a little too intimate than it should be, maybe), and he wants to make his friend smile, like an idiot as Merlin is always.

 

He didn’t do so, not what he wants the most. He rolls over in his bed, acting naturally like he always does, a confidential perfect actor. He hears Merlin chuckle this time, he _feels_ it, and he curls up secretly inside capturing that he does make his servant’s tears turn into smile. He’s Arthur Pendragon, the master of strategies, knows a hundred paths to reach his goals, at least- Merlin stop crying. Good. Hurrah. Though not always via his most preferable path, he does make progress all the time.

 

It’s just not time yet. The world’s waiting as he does, however it’s not ready, neither Merlin, nor his kingdom- _their_ kingdom. But the time will come soon, their time will come, not very far away, he could feel it, he could see it, just around the corner, a few more steps only.

 

It won’t be far, it’s within reach. Not yet time, not now. _But soon_.


	2. ii. Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Tag Season 5 mostly) All the paths led to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read if you don't want something SAD, because I'm hurting and this does not turn out right.

 

 

It’s dark. It’s the middle of the night, Camelot’s asleep, or holding its breath as if it can feel the pulse of the King. Seems that the castle’s afraid of breaking the silence and disturbing the peace of its King- if he’s in any. People of Camelot wouldn’t know, after all, save Merlin. He’s the Court Physician, the manservant to the King, the friend and the other side of the coin. He knows things.

 

_The King’s dying._

 

He walks through the corridors speechless, his gown flying after him. Sir Modred is watching the night. Merlin walks past the Knight and push the door open, ignoring the guards around. It’s something he enjoys all the time, isn’t he? No one entre the King’s bedroom like he does, because the King’s trust to him, the bond they share during all these years, and maybe something more. It doesn’t matter. All it matters is Arthur’s life, Merlin’s destined half, blah blah, and the only one could change things is here by His Majesty’s bedside and yes, Merlin’s going to prevent the death of their King- _his_ King- the once and future King.

 

He wouldn’t let Arthur die on his watch, never. It’s his duty to fulfill the destiny, to protect his royal idiot, it’s what he’s really good at; what he always does and succeed.

 

“Don’t do this, Merlin.” Oh, Modred, of course, the great and honest and grown-up Modred, the nice and perfect kid. “You know it’s not right.”

 

“I think I just did so, Sir.” Merlin remains by Arthur’s side, nursing the now warm and alive King, wiping the sweat on the handsome face and feels the beating of the golden heart under his hands.

 

“It’s not wise to bring the dead from the other world, you know how it would end up, Emrys.” Modred stares at the King, in both relief and awe. “You never know _who_ you really brought back, did his soul have been damaged and corrupted, you might even bring evil to the land… there’s a reason that laws of the nature are to be obeyed, and we as warlocks are supposed to guarantee such balance! No one can override the rules, Emrys, not even a man as powerful as you.”

 

“Well, I think I’m just never a wise man, am I?” said Merlin, “And I do bring back _Arthur_. I know he’s Arthur.”

 

“You don’t know what it will bring to us, Emrys. It won’t be good.”

 

“I know, Modred. It’s just… not time yet. Not the time for him to die. And I know things more than you do, which I feel so ironic right now.” He caresses the chin of his King, smiles bitterly. “I might have let the stupid royal fool hang around out there a bit too long before I finally located him, and despite I pretty sure he’s himself for now, I can’t be sure for ever.”

 

“You shouldn’t have done it at the first place.”

 

“Yes, but _I’m Merlin, I do stupid things pretty often_.” He tries to make a joke of himself but no one laugh (Arthur would, maybe, only if he’s awake and conscious, which he’s not right now), “And I need you to make me a promise.”

 

He couldn’t believe that this is how the path eventually is, and among all people he’s the one to ensure it. For all these years Merlin tries his best to prevent what he thinks may happen in the future, and at this very moment, he finds himself the one to pull the trigger-

 

“I need you to keep an eye on him, closely.”

 

“I’m a Knight of Camelot, Merlin. I keep an eye on our King all the time.”

“… ‘m Not finished. Watch his every steps, don’t let anything pass under your nose easily, not the smallest bits. And…” Merlin pauses and closes his eyes, feeling tears gathering inside his eyelids, and he promised himself he won’t let it fall, not in front of Modred. Merlin deserves it. “You find anything wrong, anything suspicious, that Arthur is not being himself anymore, you will kill him.”

 

“You’re asking me to murder my King.” Anger rises in Modred’s eyes, “You know what you’re talking about at all?”

 

“I do.” He slips one of his hands to Arthur’s chest, checking the still-beating-heart for assurance. “I’m asking you to guard a man’s honors, the greatest and nicest man you and I have ever met, and I need your promise.”

 

“Or you can do it yourself. Or you can bring him back into peace _now_.” Modred slaps.

 

“I can do no such thing.” Merlin looks into the Knight’s eyes, let the tears drop freely because he couldn’t hold them any longer, he’s nothing but a coward. A fool. It is him who leads all the paths into one unavoidable miserable future, and he did believe that man as he is could change a thing. “It’s not my role in this destiny.”

 

Modred stops for a few seconds, surveying Merlin.

 

“You do realize you’re asking me to break my oaths, turn against what I am for my whole life since I walked into Camelot the second time, and again hide in shadows and disguise, toss away what I’ve been fighting for. A betrayer. A murder. A man that abandons his faith and principles.”

 

He closes his eyes again, let the harsh words stab into his heart and soul, straight and precise.

 

_No. This is not Modred._

 

“These are all the sins I will bear, Modred. Not yours. Do we have a deal?”

 

It takes about five seconds, maybe ten. Obvious but not long.

 

“You have my promise, Merlin Emrys.”

 

He couldn’t produce a word more. It is dark, and quiet, and Arthur’s warm, breathing, alive, _for now_. Albion does not lose its King, not yet. By the time he opens his eyes, Modred is gone and the door’s closed. Everything’s perfect and still, except for Merlin. His body is numb, his mind, is however running thousands of miles at the speed of light, chasing after _nothing_ as what he does in the previous years of his life. His magic is grieving, weeping, screaming, eating him out, over all he has done. Every spell he casted. Every move he took. Everything he believed is for Arthur’s good, keeping his friend safe and sound, is waste and a curse. He was _murdering_ Arthur. And there is no coin, no other halves, no more, _no more_ …

 

 


End file.
